Dead men and Homsar tell no tales
by Pazoink
Summary: Strong Sad confesses on Homsar's miraculous comeback and odd speech.Mostly written at night, so it might seem a bit... meh... in places.


**Hello. Once more, welcome to my ever so slightly twisted world. This time, in Homestar Runner form! I promise I'll update my Warriors story soon, and maybe my The Sight one too, but in the meantime, he's some stuff.**

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I looked at him. Cold. Pale. Unmoving. My hands trembled, wires clattering against the floor. But I wasn't about to give up. This was my last chance. My last chance ever. I took a deep breath, and…

Yeah. I thought I'd begin with that. A lot of stories begin with something along those lines.

Don't worry. I'll get back to that later. I just thought that you might actually want to know what that's all about. It's fine if you don't… but… if you want to know, I'll say.

My name is Strong Sad; I live in Free Country USA, with my two older brothers. Unfortunately, that makes this place a whole lot less free than the name suggests. For me, anyway. Maybe not for them. They pretty much get free run of the place.

They've been like that for nearly all of our lives. It was a bit better when Mom was around; at least then I got a Decemberween present. Even if the present was not getting locked in the bathtub. Then, when she went, I was all on my own. I still get cards from her, and from great-grandma. But I tend to have problems understanding a few of them. Especially that one time, when I got a phonecall, and it sounded all funny, and at first I thought it was Homsar, but it was actually great-grandma telling me about her weekend. Now, don't get me wrong, I like talking to great-grandma. It's just that she happens to have a real crappy telephone connection.

I've mentioned Homsar, and I guess I should tell you a bit about him. I've known him pretty much all my life, and he's a great friend. He might have some problems, but we all do, really. Or is it just me?

Homsar and I meet up every so often to play board games, or Connect Four, or sometimes Homsar arranges a Jengajam. He invites everyone, but it usually ends up being just us two and some dips, but no chips. Strong Bad steals them from me. I've written some poetry about those Jengajams, but The Cheat ate them. The Cheat is my brothers' pet. He's small and yellow and squeaky and he hates me, just like everyone else around here. But there have been some real lows in the house, like when Strong Bad jumped up and down on me saying he hates me, or when he made me into a radio DJ, or when he put coffee in my orange juice, or when he told Strong Mad to punch me in the knee, or that… thing… with the drill… you don't want to hear about the drill. That should never see the light of day ever again. But what I'm going to tell you about is the worst out of all the things my brothers, or in this case, Strong Bad, did. When things went too far. And when I tried to fix them, I'm not sure if I really helped.

It all started pretty soon after Strong Bad got the Internet. I was going to meet up with Homsar to go and play board games at his house, because someone had hidden all of mine. I began to get suspicious when Strong Bad was happy about the e-mail he had received. I went to his desk after he had left. The Tandy was on the desk, green lines running across the screen as always. I watched the lines, mesmerised. After a while, I shook myself free from the lure of standing there, forever watching those lines, and I read the actual words that had delighted my brother so.

"Hi Strong Bad," it began. That was innocent enough. Maybe it was just about me being whiny, or lame, or crappy, or dumb, or something like that. I could've lived with that. "If you hate Homsar so much, why don't you kill him?" The rest of the text blurred away, and the walls seemed to close in on me. How could anyone know about Homsar? I had kept him secret from everyone! Everyone except my brothers, that is. The words echoed inside my head. I could hear Strong Bad gleefully reading them out. Why don't you kill him? Why don't you kill him?

Why don't you kill him?

I ran over to the field as fast as I could. For the first, and pretty much only, time in my life, I wished that I had been born with feet instead of soolnds.

But by the time… the- the time I got there… it was too late. Sorry… i-it still isn't a good memory for me. I… it… there… he… there-there was a big… lourde. A- a heavy lourde. A short distance away from that, there lay a yellow bowler hat. I picked it up. It smelled of dips. Strong Bad had done exactly as he had been asked. He had killed Homsar.

I think I spent all night there. I cried, and I tried to move the lourde, and then I cried some more when I couldn't. I even read poetry to the lourde, wondering if Homsar would be able to hear it. I knew it was hopeless, I knew my friend was dead, but there was a tiny hope inside of me that, maybe, somewhere, Homsar could hear me.

When I came back home, I became really ill. Not that anyone cared; I don't think they actually noticed. Strong Mad came in once… I think. He tried to pat me on the head, and I ended up unconscious for a couple of hours. I was during that time I came up with a plan. I do my best thinking whilst suffering from concussion.

I used Free Country's loose grasp on the laws of physics, and for that matter, science in general, to shift the lourde. I think Marzipan sold it off to some guy named Vinnie in the end. What I found under the lourde wasn't pleasant, but it was adequate.

Over time, I reconstructed my friend. It wasn't easy. I think I might have messed up with his arms a bit, and I had to give quite a lot of my blood. And Anthony stopped sending funds and support, which was a real blow. I was going to send a card to him saying thank you, and enclose the excess money that he send me, but I don't think that I sent it quick enough, because he told me that I was dumb and a crappy guy.

It turned out in the end that I would have needed that money for my wall, anyway. But that's another story entirely.

Piece by piece, my friend returned to normal. I kept him in a jar of chemicals, once again using my homeland's very tenuous grasp on reality to help. During that time, I think my psychological problems got a bit worse, and I watched Shallow Grave a few too many times. My 'friends' did pick up on that. I refused to go on those weird adventures Homestar used to invite me to, and I think I upset everyone a bit at Halloween. Marzipan especially. I felt bad about that, as Marzipan has never really done anything to hurt me.

It all came together in November at some point, or maybe it was early December. I forget. Somehow, I had located a hospital, and, much to my discomfort was forced to break into it. I carried Homsar in. Yes, I can carry others. I may be the wimpy one, but I am still one of the Brothers Strong, and it isn't just a name. I placed him beside a machine I had rigged up, following instructions I had found on the Internet.

I looked at Homsar. Cold. Pale. Unmoving. His skin was criss-crossed with lines where I had reassembled him. Free Country's biology is a little odd too. His hat lay beside him. They looked almost peaceful together. I was almost tempted to call it off, to leave my friend to the cold comfort of death, which I had, and have, occasionally longed for. My hands trembled, wires from the machine clattered on the floor. But I wasn't about to give up without a fight. This was my last chance. My last chance ever. I turned on the electricity supply. I took a deep breath and-

Well, if I was to tell the truth, I'm not entirely sure how the machine worked. I know about those professional things that doctors use, but this was something I had constructed mostly out of duct tape. But Homsar's eyes opened. I almost jumped around the room with joy, but that was one of those times when it was impossible for me to jump.

"Where's the jenga, Strong Baaayd?" He asked. His hat fluttered feebly as he spoke. Homsar was alive! Everything was back to normal!

"Shhh. Strong Bad isn't here." I answered.

"Daaaa like a fish on a big old roof." Homsar said. I frowned. This wasn't like him. He might have spoken funny, but he always made sense. I was about to question him on what he had said, but he was asleep.

I visited him a few times. The first couple of visits, he was unconscious, but then he made a miraculous recovery.

"Marzipan visited." I told him. "She sent you flowers." I gestured at the flowers nearby. They were some big old ragged-looking ones I recognised from her yard.

"Maaarzipa-yun is a real state trooper." Homsar smiled. His hat looped through the air as he spoke. I laughed.

"Just don't let her catch you saying that! I don't think she understands what you mean by it."

"Daaaaaa." Homsar made a funny wailing noise, then shut his mouth abruptly.

"What is that?" I asked. "You did that when you… woke up." I only just stopped myself from revealing what had happened.

"I don't lie to you, this mess ain't mah fault or yours." Homsar seemed just as confused, but he was a true enough friend not to place the blame on me. I kept up the conversation, but inside, I felt guilt and doubt gnawing away at me like The Cheat at a notepad.

Soon after that, Homsar went home. The first thing he did was thank Marzipan for the flowers. Despite the numbness in his feet, which was probably my fault, he still held a Jengajam that week. For once, it wasn't just us two, as Homestar and Pom Pom turned up to welcome Homsar back home. We had a good time. We hugged some trees, and ate some dips, and we talked. Well, Homestar ran laps of the trees, but the rest of us talked.

But in the middle of a conversation, something happened that worried me further. "Daaaa, this homebound is real bad luck." Homsar shouted.

"What did you say?" I asked again, still mystified as to what was happening, but Pom Pom just ignored it and changed the subject to one of his girlfriends from the Isle of Pom.

Other than that, not much happened. We went back into the old routine. He came to my house on Thursdays to play board games; I went to his house on Saturdays to play different board games. My brothers beat me up nearly every day.

The next thing happened when The Cheat got 'lost'. Homsar and I were playing Connect Four, as it was the only game left unchewed, on account of it being plastic. I had just finished my turn when-

"Oh no! You shanked my Jengaship!" Homsar yelled at the top of his voice. I tried to reason with him.

"Jengaship? We're playing Connect Four."

But Homsar seemed to be unaware of what was around him. Bubs barged in, looking for The Cheat. I didn't know where The Cheat was, and I was more concerned with my friend's odd behaviour.

"Aaaaaaaa!" Homsar shouted, "Hey, Tubbs!" Bubs frowned. "I just lost my Jengajam!" There was an awkward silence. I could see Homsar getting worried.

"Don't you talk to me." Was Bubs' response. He always has been rather insensitive. He walked out of the room. We looked at each other.

"Homsar, do you actually know what you're saying sometimes?" I asked. Maybe he was just messing around. I know that he doesn't particularly like to be near Bubs since he got ripped off about that computer. It turned out to be a box with some pebbles in.

"I don't have ideas at all." Replied Homsar. "Can't you help me say what it is?" He asked. He looked pleadingly at me.

"I don't-" I was about to deny knowledge of this, but my voice caught in my throat. This was Homsar, the guy who had been my friend when everyone else hated me. I couldn't lie to him. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Sure as I'll ever be!" Homsar's voice fluctuated between loud and quiet.

"Remember when the lourde hit you? Well… you… died."

"No, it isn't my right or wrong!" Homsar screamed at me.

"No! I'm not lying to you!" I kept my voice quiet. I don't like to shout. "You died! You died and I bought you back to life!"

"This set-up is a real slippy couch-seat." Homsar muttered.

"I know it's hard to understand, but it's the truth!" I felt tears forming in my eyes. "You died and you came back to life and you started saying weird stuff and you can't feel your legs and…" I stopped. Homsar stared at me. "And I just don't know what to do!" I finished.

"You're barking up a river of miles." Homsar's accusation stung me.

"Why would I make up something like that?" I shouted. I clamped my hands over my mouth. Homsar frowned.

"You're fakin' the funk on a nasty dunk." He stormed out of the room, leaving me along with my Connect Four.

It was then more than ever I felt alone. My best friend wouldn't believe me when I told the truth.

It was months later when he seemed to forgive me. By that point, he had developed a pretty serious problem with random sentences. Nearly every time he spoke, he said, "When can we start the Jeffersons?" to me. We were both quite frightened by that point.

"Don't worry. I'll find a way out of this." I said. A stab of guilt ran through me. I knew as certainly as I knew that my soolnds are grey, that I had just made a promise I couldn't keep.

Over time, even weirder things started to happen. Homsar started to lose his grip on reality every now and again. Things like taping a spoon to an eggplant and calling it a pumpkin were weird, but not that strange, considering what other people do sometimes. But it was when he started floating that things got out of hand. I remember when Strong Bad came up to me, hit me in the face, and then told me that my midget friend was on the ceiling making funny noises. I went upstairs, and sure enough, Homsar was there, shouting, with his hat flying around the room in circles.

"Homsar?" I called out to him. He looked around and fell of the ceiling. His hat slowly drifted down and landed on his head.

"You're not gonna be what I'm telling." He began.

"Oh, I'm sure I will. Whatever it is, it can't be weirder than what just happened." I reassured him.

"You just- daaaaaaaaa!" Homsar started to shout again.

"Homsar! Snap out of it!" I shouted. Homsar shut his mouth.

"You're a real state trooper." He said gratefully. "I was going to be off to Pom now."

"Why?" This was surprising.

"Yellow man told me it was good for my ailbees."

"Oh." I understood now. "Pom Pom thinks they might be able to help you there." Homsar nodded. "Well, I hope they can. When will this happen?"

"Daaaaaaa. Over the border of that ways."

"Oh. Tomorrow. Well, see you."

"I'll be using the phone bill." Homsar promised. I was a little surprised. That was the most sense he'd made in ages.

"Thanks. I'm looking forward to hearing about it."

It was pretty soon after that I got a phonecall from him. He said that he was having a great time, and that he was a million ladies tall. I took that to mean that Pom Pom had asked his girlfriends to look after him. My idiotic brother was holding some kind of award thing to do with hot girls, and he asked me if any had called. I said that they hadn't. Then I decided to mess with his head a little and told him about the conversation I had. The bit being a million ladies tall, anyway. That day wasn't too bad. At least I didn't get beaten up so bad that afternoon. But The Cheat melted my Connect Four pieces, so I had to go and buy some more board games.

Homsar came back in May, but he hadn't made any progress, really. He still said some really weird stuff. He did, however, bring back a load of photographs to show me. They were pretty good, see as he'd forgotten to take the lens cap off the camera. We even starred in some celebrity testimonies for one of Strong Bad's weird e-mails. Well, I was blackmailed, and Homsar still thought we were playing Cluedo, but it was okay, I guess. I got Gooblies back, eventually… after a year.

July wasn't that great for Homsar. We got asked to make little videos about ourselves. My one was rubbish. I don't want to see it ever again. It depresses me. Homsar was really nervous that day. He even spent half of it upside down. I think that his nervousness made his speech even worse, because he shouted a load of random stuff at the camera. I understood some of it, like he was saying that he had friends, and a girlfriend in the Isle of Pom, and that he almost won the Powerball once. And then he started spinning. You had to have been there to understand how weird that was. It's not every day your friend starts to spin in midair.

For the rest of July, things went pretty normally. I went down into a deep dark pit of sadness, and didn't notice much. So I'm guessing it went normally. In August, I had to open the look-alike contest. I don't even know how that started. But I never actually get to see the entries, because Coach Z just tells me to go away. That night, when I was sitting in the field, alone, I saw a shuffling shape coming towards me. At first I thought someone else was lurking. I can't be the only one who enjoys night-time lurks, can I?

The figure I saw was moving slowly, its head bowed. I waited for it to come closer until I would decide whether I should run away or not. Eventually, I began to see it in more detail. It had large grey soolnds, and that surprised me. When it came even closer, I wondered if I should get my prescription checked again. For, standing in front of me, was me. The only difference was that the other me had a hat. It stood there. I almost cried out, but my voice caught in my throat. The other me opened its mouth as if to speak, and-

"Daaaaaa-" Came a familiar voice.

"Homsar! You scared me!"

"Righty-ho." Homsar said cheerfully. "I think I can twice."

"No, I don't want you to scare me again."

"I can't say what I'm wanting no more." Homsar sat down, looking miserable.

"Oh. Is it getting worse?" I sat down next to him.

"Each day a dollar more." He confirmed. "There won't be time for Jengajams."

"Each day we die a little more." I quoted one of my poems. One of the ones that hadn't been shredded by The Cheat or my brothers..

"They told me no to go." Homsar said.

"I guess they must have thought you were me. I wouldn't put it past them." I paused. "How did you make the costume, anyway?" It was eerily accurate.

"It came when I thought." Homsar said, and as we spoke, he gradually morphed back into his old self. I guess that if that had happened a few weeks ago, I would have been scared. But as it was, I was just confused.

"Oh. Can you-"

"Daaaaaaa!" Homsar interrupted. "Flying a great tomato!"

"Flying a what?" I spoke before he could say anything else weird. "I don't even know what you're saying anymore." Homsar opened his mouth, annoyance showing on his face. "I don't know what my best friend is saying and it's all my fault." I got up. "I'm gonna go now. Just go find a proper friend to be with. One that won't mess up your life and death." Homsar just watched me go. No words. Not even a 'daaaaa'. Just silence.

Not even sitting on a tree stump could cheer me up. I just kept on thinking about how everyone was right, and that I am dumb and crappy and whiny. I thought about death a lot too. Then I think I fell asleep for a bit, and I dreamed of my death. Then I woke up. When I finally got home, I stayed in my room for a while. By a while, I mean a long time. I tried to hibernate that winter. Not that it worked. My brothers just came in and pummelled me.

I joined the Homestarmy a bit after that pummelling. I just painted a hat on that picture of a guy with a big knife, and got a tape of some people cheering. We lost the battle, though. I wish I hadn't spent those five bucks. I could've used them to but a poster or some music.

Without me, Homsar became famous for a while. He even got his own TV show. He was hanging out with Pom Pom and The Poopsmith then, and they're much cooler than I am, really. That carried on for a year. I just waited, and waited, and then phoned Marzipan, and then waited for her to phone back. I still am. And then I got beaten up lots, and then I waited somewhere else.

Homsar did praise my poetry at the Poetry Slam that was held, but then so did Marzipan, so he was probably just being polite. We kind of went our separate ways after that. I went back to writing, and arts and crafts, and arts b/w crafts, and being pummelled, and generally just be alone. I wrote in my blog a few times, then I gave up after I realised that the only person viewing it was me.

I was only this year that Homsar and I began to speak to each other again. He hasn't really forgiven me for the whole messing-up-bringing-him-back-to-life thing, but I guess that it's nice that he hasn't disowned me. He listened to my findings on the DNA evidence, and he hasn't told anyone yet - although, nowadays, I wonder if he could, even if he wanted to.

Despite his decreasing ability to make any sense whatsoever, he has a much better social life than I ever have. He's on Team Kneepads, he has a TV show, and he had a solo on the song we made.

Currently, he's working on a blockbuster feature film directed by Pom Pom. I sent some of my screenplay ideas off after reading the script, but I haven't had a reply yet.

Sorry you had to listen to me say all this, but I felt that it needed to be said. Now I'm going to find a quiet spot, and dream of my own death. Over and over and over and over…

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**Yeah. This probably isn't the best I could write. But the idea came to me at about three in the morning.**

**Incidentally, I've dreamed of my death quite a few times. About… well, it's over twenty times that I can remember in the past few years. Decapitation was the worst. Don't do it kids! You'll live… or die… to regret it.**


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